Nowhere Kills Part 1
by techiedude
Summary: Supernatural, crime drama/horror Sam and Dean drive to Las Vegas to solve a strange case. slight AU, language, graphic violence, blood, sex (HET), character death, Sam W, Dean W, Bobby, Rowena, multiple OCs
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Sam and Dean were at it again. They had just finished a nasty beheading from a blood-sucking vamp that had left some poor schmuck lifeless.

"Sam, are you going to stand there and stare at the body?" Dean bellowed in his normal psycho-sounding tones. "We just killed it; that's what we do. You know that! Let's get rid of the body before someone walks by and sees this shit and calls the cops."

Sam tilted his head with his usual bitch-face manner and walked away without saying a word to his older but less-than-wiser brother.

"Sam! Sam! Sammy!" Dean demanded a response from his brother. Sam walked over to the car, opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat without saying a word.

Dean picked up the body, dropped the head under the Impala, screamed some unrecognizable banter, and stuffed the body into the trunk.

They had just killed a friend; Charlie was no more. She called them just 24 hours ago to tell them that Rowena had garnered a partnership to take down the lot of them. Yes, Rowena wanted to make them all pay by making them into monsters.

Dean got into the driver's seat and Sam looked at him quietly exclaiming, "We are going to kill that bitch if it is the last thing we do on this planet! I will follow her to hell to kill her there! Stay the hell out of my way if you're not going to help me!"

Dean glanced back at him and nodded with demand! He reached down and started the car. They stopped a few miles down the road to give Charlie her due send-off. The Viking way; the true warrior! They watched in reverence as the body burned with fury.

Sam and Dean finished the Hunter funeral, said their fond farewells to Charlie and drove away from the scene. Just then the cell phone rang, Dean answered.

"Hey Bobby! How's it been going? We're on our way back to the house right now."

"No, you can't. I just received a message that something screwed up is happening in Las Vegas, Nevada, and I need the two of you to go investigate."

Dean changed the phone setting to let Sam here the conversation.

Dean responded, "Hey, I've got Sam with me. Tell us what's going on!"

Bobby replied, "Balls! You idgets have been in enough trouble lately, but I have something else for you to investigate. Evidently, bodies are showing up in Las Vegas with strange happenings surrounding them. This is right up your alley. I suggest you pack heavily because the word is you're up against something really evil this time."

Sam replied, "Bobby, do you know anything else that might help us?"

Bobby retorted, "If I did know, you two would be the first to find out. Just go look for yourselves for once. Call me if you need anything."

Dean said, "Thanks, Bobby. We'll take care of it." and disconnected the call.

Chapter 1

Creeping through the shadows, death makes me feel powerful as I strike. I like to slice and dice just for the thrill. Trolls beware! I am now here! I watch as the public masses stroll through the city sidewalks. The masses are trolls waiting to be released from their hideous existence. The sidewalks are clear; the sky is darker now. The clouds are blocking the moonlight; this is to my advantage. Most all of the trolls have gone home. I see another walking down the street, cold and shivery. I cross the street from my hiding place in the trees. I cannot help myself; the thrill takes over. The troll is fresh meat. I grab the troll by the throat and throw it down. "Please, please, do not hurt me. I have a family!" cried the troll. "I just want to go home to see them again." My blade slices through the troll's skin with precision accuracy.

I love my knife; it's my only friend.

The blood spurts out and sprays everywhere and everything. The troll's hideous existence has ended. The thrill is complete or is it? I must complete the task. I skulk away in the dark and the rain.

No one sees me! I am NOW HERE!

Lying on my back, I looked up at the skylight window. The sky was presenting its destructive forces. A crack of lighting lit up the sky, a clap of thunder rumbled through the walls, and a down-pour started the ceiling to leak. I got up, put a bucket under the leak and lay back down. This was my day off. I didn't want anything screwing with it.

My cigarette was burning slowly as I thought to myself, _Las Vegas, what a hole this city has become._ I took another drag and blew out the smoke. The phone rang. I didn't care; but did I. As a veteran Lieutenant of 26 years with Las Vegas' finest I had learned respect for the streets. I choked on my next puff of smoke, sat up, and threw my legs over the side of the bed. I plugged out the cigarette in an ash tray that looked like it hadn't been emptied in weeks. The ash dropped onto the floor as I picked up the telephone receiver.

"Yeah, this is Detective Mike Harrow. Who's this?"

"Mike, it's the Captain, I need you downtown now." Captain Hal Lawrence was a great friend of mine. We grew up together on the streets and went to the academy together. We were partners for years. He was promoted to Captain only a few months before. He recommended my promotion to Lieutenant. I had to thank him for that.

"What's going on, Cap" I asked as I attempted to wipe the exhaustion out of my eyes.

"Mike, we've got a body. It's a woman with her throat slit. I need you, please."

"Alright, Hal, I'm my way. Where are you?"

"Mike, make it quick! The storm is destroying the crime scene; I don't want to lose any evidence", he snapped back. I could hear his stern tone. Something really bad had happened. He wasn't normally this hard-assed.

I drove up to the scene at the corner of Fremont and 7th. The Captain, a bearded, 6'4" tall man, was standing there (clipping his cigar) surrounded by the local squad and the rest of my detective team, Sergeant Debbie Halverson and Detective Eugene Parker. Halverson and Parker were partners in more than one way. I didn't care as long as they got the job done. These two were good cops and I respected their hard work. Between the two of them they had over 200 solid, confirmed arrests with a 92% conviction rate. I knew that I could depend on them to get the job done right.

"Mike, where the hell have you been?" screamed the Captain as I approached and lifted the crime scene tape.

"I got here at fast as I could. Where's the scene?" I called back almost tearing the barrier.

"It's over here!" claimed Sergeant Halverson. She and Detective Parker were leaning over the body of a woman. The Medical Examiner, Doctor Raymond Clarke, arrived a few minutes later.

"Ok, let me in to take a look." I pushed through the crowd. I saw a young woman of approximately 32 years old. She was of African American descent with dark black hair. She was wearing a lavish teal green evening gown with white shoes. She looked as if she had just left a dinner party. She had a slash through her throat so deep that a pool of blood had covered her entire gown. The body had been placed in between two trash cans like a regular piece of garbage. I ran around the corner and puked. I didn't care if the vomit mixed with the crime scene. This scene made me sick. This was one of the worst scenes I had encountered in years.

"Ok, Doc. Give us a cursory exam", I asked as I wiped the vomit from my lips with my shirt sleeve. I lit a cigarette to bide the time.

"Well, Lieutenant, for what I can see, the cut is approximately 4 inches long and 2 inches deep. The directionality shows a left-to-right cut. This would be consistent with a right-handed person" he said. "I also see bruising around the wound itself. I'll have to get a better look at it when I start the autopsy."

"Doc, is there any evidence of sexual assault?" asked Detective Parker. He was standing there taking all the notes that he could while awaiting an answer.

"I will have to do a full pelvic exam before I can make that statement" claimed the Doctor. "Captain, let me talk to you, please."

"What's that in the victim's hand?" asked Detective Halverson. She put on her rubber gloves, leant down and grabbed the victim's right hand. The woman was holding a piece of a black rubber with torn edges. She closely examined the victim's fingernails and noticed a small piece of skin. "Give me a plastic bag, now. I've got possible DNA from her assailant."

Our crime scene tech, Marcus Howard, showed up to the scene. He started to move the body when he called out to my team. "Detectives, you've got to see this."

"What did you find?" I asked?

"Well, I have a something that has to be seen and documented!" responded Marcus. The bottom side of one the trash can lids had a sign written in blood. The bloody scribe read, "I am NOW HERE!"

"I found this while moving the trash cans out of the way. It fell off the trash can to the right of the body. I snapped a picture of the bloody image." he exclaimed.

Just then the doctor pulled the Captain and me aside while the other two were steadily working to finish the cursory exam of the body. "Hal, I have a bad feeling. I have seen this before" he claimed.

"What do you mean, Doc?" the Captain asked.

"Captain, this is not the first scene I've been to tonight. I was at another one just like this only a couple of hours ago."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked.

"Mike, this is the exact same signature that was showing on the body I examined across town" he shot back.

"You have got to be kidding me" Captain Hal exclaimed. "We have only been out here for just over an hour. When did you get the other call?"

"Hal, Mike, I came right over here when I got the call about the body. I'm not kidding. Everything is exactly the same right down to the body being in between the two trash cans" he explained.

"Ok, Doc. You have got to get us access to the other crime scene photos" the Captain answered. "We need to move on this right away."

We all went back over to where the body was laying. The Medical Examiner's bus came and picked up the woman's body. I looked over to Sergeant Halverson and Detective Parker and told them to go directly to the Medical Examiner's office and wait for the autopsy.

One of the reporters for the local NBC affiliate drove up in her van.

 _Great! This is all I need!_ I thought to myself.

Sherry Campbell shoved her way to the front of the crowd. She was one of the most famous of the cities' reporters and quite possibly, the most annoying. She could make every cop on the block completely nervous just by looking at them. Standing outside the crime scene tape, she asked with a cutesy smile, "Lieutenant Harrow, have you got anything to tell me?"

"It's an open case; you know that I can't talk to you about it, Ms. Campbell." I answered. Just as she was asking me, she hunched up on her heels and looked over my left shoulder at the whole scene.

"Ha! I knew that there was something to this. It's a murder, isn't it?" she asked annoyingly.

"I told you, Ms. Campbell, I cannot talk to you about the case."

She wryly looked at me and stated, "Hmm, this must be the work of the _Nowhere Killer_."

 _Now just where the hell did this blonde bimbo come with that stupid assumption?_ I thought to myself. Just then I realized she saw a portion of the scene she should not have. The crime scene became a public spectacle. We were working hard enough trying to SOLVE the crimes instead of having everyone butt into our business. Part of the realization made me upset because I knew deep down inside that she was going to spread the "news".

Sam and Dean drove into Las Vegas using Interstate 15, traveling west. Just as the first exit sign appeared, Dean took his right hand off the steering wheel, pointed at the sign, and cheered, "Vegas, Baby! I'm gonna hit the tables tonight. Give me a C-Note and leave me the hell alone. Whiskey, women and gambling, my three favorite past-times!"

Sam cleared his throat, drew a deep breath and belted out a retort, "We're not here to have a good time; we have a job to do!"

"Sammy, you never take a vacation. We have been at this shit for weeks and deserve to have some fun."

"Dean, I agree with you, but according to Bobby, we need to be watching our guard. Evidently, the stories are about murders occurring inside the city limits."

"Sam, murder happens everywhere; lighten up for once."

Sam shrugged his shoulders and slumped deeper into the passenger's chair.

They exited I-15 at Tropicana Blvd, drove slightly east until reaching the Las Vegas Blvd Strip. The two of them gawked at all the recent changes that had been completed since their last visit.

They drove up the Strip and stopped at a coffee shop to get drinks. Sam took his laptop with him and accessed the coffee shops' Wi-Fi signal.

"Hey, Dean, according to the local news, one of the murders happened over off of Fremont. We're about 4 miles from the incident."

"Sam, get your shit together. Let's go!"

The two of them drove to the site and wandered into the crowd. They arrived just as the cops were finishing their on-site cursory exam.

They overheard the last part of a conversation:

"Wait a minute, Sherry!" I forced my way through the crowded entourage to confront her. "Damn it! You cannot and will not spread that ludicrous fucking tripe!" I snapped. "This shit is not your business! We solve the crimes here!"

She became belligerent and stormed off. Her cameraman crawled into the van through the side door. I saw a finger rise from her right hand as she hauled herself into the passenger-side, front seat of the vehicle. She slammed its door hard. I think that I got my opinion through to her; there was no telling. She is or _was_ my girlfriend. She was showering when I received the call from the Captain. Needless to say she was pissed at me. _Oh well_ , I thought to myself. _I've been laid by worse._

Sam and Dean looked at each and knew at that instant that they were "on-the-clock". They approached the cops and announced themselves with the FBI.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Winchester boys began their conversation with the Lieutenant with confidence. Their evening began well with arriving in the city only to take a dive into deep shit.

"Uh hum..." Sam cleared his throat. He and Dean held out their fake FBI badges to make the appearance look authentic.

"Hi, is there someone in charge?" he asked the Lieutenant.

Lt. Harrow answered, "Yeah, I'm the one in charge. Who's asking?"

Dean interjected, "Yes, I'm Special Agent Lorne and this is Special Agent Michaels. We heard that there has been some suspicious activity and we would like to aid in the investigation."

Sam looked at him quizzically because this may have the first time that he sounded intelligent to him.

"Agent Lorne and Agent Michaels, you say... Do you really think that you named yourselves after the person that started _Saturday Night Live_? I've been around for a few years and those are the worst fake names I have heard in a long time. Get lost!" shouted Lt. Harrow. "I could have you arrested right now for impersonating officers of the law but I am going to let you go. I have too much to deal with right now."

Sam and Dean immediately turned and walked away.

"Dean, that was too close. We can't afford to be locked up right now."

"Sam, you're right. But I'll stick around and do some snooping away from the police. I'm sure that we can learn something more about this case from the autopsy. Go to the coroners office and look around. Stay out of sight."

The two of them split up.

Doctor Raymond Clarke was standing over the body as the team walked into the morgue. Mrs. Jones chest was cracked open and Doctor Clarke was viewing the weight of her stomach. He poured out the contents just as Detective Parker started to speak.

"OK, Doc. You told us to wait for the autopsy for the sexual assault exam. Was there any assault? Yes or No?"

"Well, Detective, I can honestly say that your killer does not have any aberrant sexual proclivities. There is no sign of sexual assault. I did find evidence that a sex act occurred sometime in the last 24 hours. There is bruising in her pelvic region, but that is concurrent with normal sexual activity."

"Well, Doc, what do you have that is pertinent to the case?" asked Sergeant Halverson.

"I think that your killer may be solving his sexual appetite by killing the victim. The thrill of the kill is his means of releasing endorphins."

"Well, that's just conjecture on your part, Doctor!" Halverson responded with a mild-mannered, terse tone.

Doctor Clarke pretty sure of himself just smiled, didn't say a word and returned his attention to the victim lying on the table.

"What's next, Doc?" asked Parker.

"Hmm, I can tell you that she was pregnant; she was approximately 2 months along." The doctor looked pretty grim at this statement. "I just hate these cases; I have to tell the husband that he has lost two people from the family, not just one." He just shook his head and again returned his attention to the body.

"What about the skin under her fingernails; did it get processed?" asked Parker. Halverson looked at him and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I sent scrapings to the lab to have it processed. The test results should be available within the next couple of days. I do have some other information to tell you about the body."

"Her name is Mrs. Jones, Doctor." Sergeant Halverson was quickly beginning to lose patience with him. His attitude was becoming too cavalier for her with the dead body.

"Very well, Mrs. Jones had a steak dinner with green beans and mashed potatoes as her last meal. She also consumed what seems to be champagne. I sent a sample of the stomach contents to the lab. They should be able to determine for you where she last ate. This would most likely be the hotel where the party took place. Maybe some of the party members can give you some additional insight."

Detective Parker answered him, "We have already located the hotel by the guest services information which was found in her purse. We still need to go there and do other investigating, but, thank you for the suggestion, Doctor. Is there anything else we need to know?"

"There are a couple of other things that I need to tell you, Detectives. First of all, if you look at the bruising around the next, you will see that the thumb print is on the left-hand side of her neck. This is consistent with the killer grabbing her by his left hand."

"How do you know that a man grabbed her, Doctor?" asked Parker. It could have been a woman."

"I don't think that it was, Detective. The size of the thumb print is consistent with a male appendage", he answered. Then the Doctor shuddered and his face turned a pale-colored gray. "The killer removed about two liters of blood from the body. The amount of blood left at the scene was not consistent with the human body quantities of blood. Normally, the human body has five to six liters of blood. Mrs. Jones was low."

He motioned for the team to move closer to the body. "Look at this. The slice in her neck has a deeper wound beneath it. Your killer cut into her neck's arterial flow and collected the blood before signing the trash can in blood."

Sergeant Halverson asked the Doctor, "What about the other victim from earlier this evening?"

"The other victim's name is Kelly Michaels. She is Caucasian, approximately 25 years of age. I finished the autopsy on her before the two of you came in. Everything is the same, except she was not pregnant. The killer removed additional amounts of blood from her as well."

Sergeant Halverson and Detective Parker looked at each other in horror. The two of them thanked the Doctor for his time, turned around, and walked out of the morgue without saying another word to him. That was just too much to take in.

I am home now. I unlock the door to my apartment. I look over my shoulder to see if any trolls are watching me. Curse the trolls, those bastards. I bend down to pick up the newspaper and throw it down on the table in front of the couch. I take off my raincoat. I pull out a treasure from my pocket. (The stupid troll scratched me. I hate her for that.) I love the disaster in my apartment: wallpaper peeling from the walls, trash everywhere, blood stains in the carpet, dirty dishes in the sink with rat shit mixed in. I admire my surroundings. I open the door to my refrigerator. I look inside. Behold, BLOOD. What a wonder this machine holds. A refreshing delight, I take a drink. Hmm! It needs warming. I put it into the microwave sitting on the corner next to the refrigerator. 90 seconds should do! I put a flask of fresh BLOOD from tonight into the refrigerator. But wait, I love my knife; it's my only friend. I go and sit down on the couch. Cockroaches scatter out of the seat. I light a cigarette. I admire the flame flickering from the red BIC lighter. I am scarred from head to toe. I love my knife; it's my only friend. I pull out a cloth to wipe my knife clean. My knife was dirtied by that trolls blood. It deserved to die. I love my knife; it's my only friend. It's clean. I can use my knife again. I love my knife; it's my only friend. Beware. I am now here. I read the newspaper: nice headline. I think that I will keep this article with the 5 others on the wall. I look at my collection across the room. Holding my knife, I stare at the blade. I admire the cleaning. Turning the knife to the side, the blade reflects my terror; a reflection other than mine appears behind me. I jump up from the couch.

"Who the fuck are you, bitch?"

I raise my knife to kill the invading troll. I am pushed back by some unseen force from this trolls outstretched hand.

Rowena speaks, "Hello there. Put down the knife. I'm here to help you, my dear, sweet, adorable psychopath." She bears a grin of incredible disgust but fascination for her find. "Bitch is such a harsh word when I come bearing a gift for you."

"What in the hell could you offer me that I don't already have, you ugly troll slut?"

"Ooh..tsk, tsk. Such manners won't do! You've never met your mother before, have you?" Rowena stated with a flare.

"Mother? Bitch, get the fuck out before I kill you, troll!"

"Now, now. Trust me; you want to hear what I have to offer."

"Offer?"

"How about immortality?"

"Fuck off, troll! Immortality, you've got to be kidding."

"I'm certainly not, son. I just need my son to do me a favor."

"What favor? And how are you going to make me immortal?"

"There are two men here in Las Vegas at this time whom I would really prefer dead. And, you, son, have such a talent. By the way, I am a 500 year-old witch and have the capability of giving life-immortal. But this gift does have the price."

"Who are these two people you want dead, bitch?"

"I told you that your manners really need fixing. Behave yourself, son! Their names are Sam and Dean Winchester and you'll find them out at your most recent scene of dismay. Really nice work, I must say."

"How do you know about that?"

"I was watching you from behind the trees while you sliced and diced that poor woman." Rowena grinned a most foul glare of appreciation.

My would-be mother disappears in a flash before my eyes. I ponder the recent encounter and find the upcoming task delightfully destructive.

Get set Las Vegas and the trolls, Sam and Dean. I am NOW HERE!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam arrived at the morgue just after the police and Dr. Clarke had finished the autopsy. The building lights were dim and there was a security guard at the main entrance desk. Sam looked through the windows, watching the guard fall asleep to make sure that everything was clear before running around the corner of the building to a staircase located on the far, left side.

He quietly dialed his brother on the phone. "Dean, I'm heading into the building. Everyone has left. I've already disabled the alarm and should be able to get the reports soon."

Dean sure that Sam would succeed told him, "Be careful and let me know when you're on your way back to me. Let's meet at Circus Circus and then we can drive to the Hard Rock Casino to get something to eat and drink at Mr. Lucky's."

Sam responded, "I'll see you soon, but why the Circus Circus?"

"Because the rooms are $35.00 per night!", Dean exclaimed with exasperation.

Sam becoming irritated and wanting to get the job done, responded, "Besides, I already know why you want to go to Mr. Lucky's..."

Dean interjected, "They have the best key lime pie, dammit."

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to tonight's guest-of-honor, Nancy Marks. Today is her 50th birthday. Congratulations to you and many more, Nancy" announced the President of Chester Electronics from the podium. He raised his crystal glass of champagne in a salute and then took a big drink.

The employees of Chester Electronics stood up from their tables and raised their glasses to her as well. "Congratulations, Nancy!" became the oration throughout the ballroom at Caesar's Palace. The various masses then started to walk around the ballroom shaking her hands and congratulating her some more.

Of course, most of the employees were just there for the booze and food, compliments of the company. Kristina Lakeisha Jones was one of Nancy Marks very good friends. They worked next to each other as receptionists at the office. Kristina walked up to Nancy and threw her arms around her and gave her a great big hug.

"Nancy, how long have we worked together?" Kristina asked.

"I think that it has been almost 7 years, Kristina. Thank you so much for being here. I needed the support!" as a big smile showed her glistening white teeth. The smile complimented her long, blonde hair. She pulled her hair back around her right ear.

"You are so VERY welcome, my dear!" exclaimed Kristina. She was gushing with pride for her friend.

"It is getting really late and Michael is probably waiting for me to get home" Kristina told her as she picked up her black, leather coat and threw it around her shoulders. "Besides, I think that I have had a little too much to drink, and I want to get home before the kids go to bed! They are usually in bed before 9:00 pm."

"Again, thank you for coming to my party", responded Nancy. She gave Kristina another big hug. "I will see you on Monday at 8:00."

"Yes, you will, Lord willing!" Kristina answered as she walked out the ballroom door.

Needless to say, this would be the last time Nancy would speak to her friend and cohort from work. No one from Chester Electronics knew Kristina better than she.

Kristina was walking home from her car when the streets of Las Vegas did her in. She had not told her husband about the pregnancy. Tonight was to be the big surprise night. She was only 150 feet away from the front door to her house when the killer destroyed the plans she had made.

 _Michael, please forgive me for not telling you sooner about the baby_ , passed through her mind as she faded away, never again to awaken.

She saw the shadow of man running away from her into the dark, wet night before she completely passed on.

Sam and Dean sat down at a table nearest the casino floor at Mr. Lucky's. Sam, full of determination to proceed with the conversation, declared, "Well, the report shows that someone cut these women's necks and drained them of a good deal of their blood. The reports also show that these women died slowly from the blood-letting; they died in agony. This is one sick fuck were dealing with."

Dean was listening but allowed his thoughts to trail toward the lights and sounds of the nearby casino floor. "Why can't we just take the night off and deal with this dick tomorrow, Sam? I need to blow off some steam still from having to kill Charlie. Give me a fucking break tonight and let the shit go for once." He took a bite of the key lime pie for which he had been salivating.

Sam cocked his head to the side and stared directly at his older brother. Not saying a word, he finished his beer and chicken sandwich and motioned the waitress for the check.

"Sam, come on. You're being a dick. Just give me an hour to go to the blackjack tables and then we will leave."

Sam bit his lower lip. "Dean I can't stop you. So, just go do it and call me when your done. I'm gonna go get something else to drink and do some more research."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It had been a long, exhausting night. I drove home to my apartment to get some much needed sleep. I walked past the corner newspaper stand. Roger was there as always. I didn't know Roger's last name; I knew him by face and his occupation. He was unloading the early edition of the Las Vegas Review-Journal. I leant down to pick up a copy. He still hadn't cut the binding twine of the first bundle when I saw the headline.

WOMAN MURDERED ON FREMONT & 7TH, POLICE BAFFLED

I paid Roger for the paper and turned to the article.

It read:

Last night the police discovered a grisly murder on the corner of 7TH Street and Fremont. According to the police department this is the work of a serial killer. He is being called the _Nowhere Killer._ We have received information from them that a 32-year old, African-American, female was found with her throat cut. Evidently, a trash can lid had "NOWHERE" written in blood on it.

My jaw dropped as I read the article. I knew that I had not disclosed any information about the case to the press. A thought, _Sherry, what the hell did you do?_ raced through my mind. As I walked into my apartment, I heard the telephone ringing from outside the apartment door. _Oh hell! I am going to get reamed_ passed through my mind. I figured that the Captain had read the article and wanted an explanation. We had worked so closely for so long that we could answer each others questions. Yeah, kind of like a married couple! It was a bit strange for two heterosexual men to think like that.

"Mike, get into the office, now!" demanded the Captain. I knew it. I was in for a serious shit-storm. I locked the apartment door, got back into my car and drove away. I hadn't gotten any sleep for 2 days. Completely exhausted from mental strain and physical weariness, I walked into the office. As I got there, Cap started in on all of us. He had called the rest of the team; they were waiting for me to arrive.

"Mike, just what the hell happened last night? I saw you speaking with the reporters. What do you tell them?" Cap was spitting as he tried to talk to us with some reason of sanity.

I couldn't respond to him with any certainty, so I snapped back, "Captain, the reporters screwed us. I did not give them any statement that this was a serial killer case. They came to their own assumption on that claim. As to the supposed name of the killer, one of them saw underneath the trash can lid. I didn't show it to her."

No one else said a word. The Captain was fuming. He turned around, walked back into his office, and slammed the door. Glass shattered and spread everywhere. Shards of glass cut the forehead of one the other officer's in the squad room as he walked by the door. I had never seen the Captain so damned angry the entire time I knew him. This case was going to get the best of all of us. I slumped down into my desk chair and began to ponder what to do next. I was at a loss. Even as a seasoned cop, this case was the beginning of the end of my career.

Marcus Wright, the crime scene tech, walked into the squad room. "I hope that you have good news for us", I persisted as I pushed my fat ass away from the desk and stood up.

"Marcus, what's up with the body?" asked Halverson.

"Well, fingerprints have identified the victim as _Kristina Lakeisha Jones_. The toxicology report shows that she had a blood alcohol level of 0.02. There were no other drugs in her system." Marcus stuck a picture of the victim on the push-pin cork-board. "We have identified the rubber as rubber used in black raincoats. They are sold everywhere."

"What about the DNA?" I asked.

"The DNA processed more quickly than I expected. We found a matching DNA profile to one other open case here in Las Vegas. We are contacting the other departments for their case files." Marcus handed the team copies of the preliminary report.

"Marcus, I need you and Parker to work together to search deeper into the background of the killer. I have a feeling this is not the killer's first time. The cut was to clean to be a first time kill." I suggested.

"What do we know about Mrs. Jones life?" I asked the team.

Parker spoke up. He was generally the quiet type; however, he was serious about his duties when it came to finding a killer. "She was married with three kids. Evidently, Mrs. Jones had just left a birthday party for one of the employees at her work. The employer was celebrating the employees' 50th."

"Where was the party?" I asked.

"It was at Caesar's Palace" replied Halverson. She was sitting at her desk and spinning a pen on her hand.

"Is there anything else?" I asked.

"We found out that the killer is taking trophies!" Parker stammered out his claim.

"Just what the fuck do you mean, Parker?" I asked with a disgusted fascination. _This case is going to be the death of me; I know it_ flashed through my mind.

"Doctor Clarke thinks that the killer is taking blood from the victims" was the response. He was fumbling through some of the case paperwork when the Captain walked out of his office.

"Well, detectives, this is some fine, damn work!" snapped the Captain. He was still angry over the newspaper but was starting to settle down. "I want to be kept in the loop for everything. You find something; you tell me first!"

I asked to speak with the Captain away from prying ears. "Hal, why are trying to take away my case? I need to do the work. I'll report it to you directly." I was red in the face and about ready to explode. I kept my composure as he stood up.

"Mike, this is my department, not yours! I'll make the decisions for this team, do you understand me? I am not going to have this conversation again. If we do, you will be putting your badge and gun on the center of my desk. Do you understand?" Captain Hal was fuming but was refrained.

"I completely understand, Captain!" I retorted. I didn't give a damn what the fuck he said. I was going to handle this case the way I saw fit. I walked out of the squad room. I needed to get some sleep. The lack of sleep was tearing me apart.

"Yeah, that's how it's done, bitches!" screamed Dean. His blackjack dealer dealt him 21 on a $500 cash bet. "Yes, now that's a payout; 3 to 1 odds - $1500! Let it ride!"

The dealer, 'John' printed on his Hard Rock Casino name tag, looked and Dean and then motioned to the pit boss for override on the table limits. The pit boss saw the stack of cash and nodded in approval.

"Yes, bitches! You know that I'm gonna run the table and clean up, don't you?" Dean was drunk on 5 shots of whiskey and 3 bottles of Budweiser and was ½ way through his fourth bottle. Frankly, his liver and other internal organs were used to the abuse.

"Aha...Yes, another blackjack. What is that $4500 I see on the table? Let it ride again!"

John looked at Dean and stated, "The max limit on this table is $1000. I had to receive approval to allow you to bet the $1500. This table is now closed." John opened his hand to expose that he wasn't hiding anything and then stepped back.

Dean grabbed the money, gave John a nasty stare, cleared his throat, dropped a C-note on the table in front of John, picked up the beer and stated, "Just feel happy that I'm in a giving mood." He gleamed at the cash muttering to himself as some blonde, trashy skank walked up to him.

"I'm Rose. Do you want some company tonight?" she asked.

"Hell, yeah! He looked her over and she spun around.

Dean woke up the next morning next to her. She was nestled with his left arm around her. The cell phone buzzed.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you all night, Dean."

"Sam? Sam, I just woke up and the sunlight is giving me a fucking headache.. Just give me a few more minutes and I'll call you back." He didn't give Sam a chance to respond and hung up.

He turned his attention back to the beautiful blonde woman in the bed. As he climbed back under the sheets, she looked at him and declared, "If you want to go another round, it'll cost you another $500."

"Sure thing, Rose!" transaction complete.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I called Sherry from my cell phone as I walked out. I didn't know whether or not she was going to talk to me after the night before. I had really pissed her off.

She answered the phone. "Mike, I am at work right now and can't really talk to you."

"Well, Sherry, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I was in the wrong. You were just doing your job." I swallowed my pride. "Will you meet for drinks or lunch?" I asked.

"Ok, Mike. Meet me at 'Boxer's Bar' in about 45 minutes. We'll talk about dinner later." She sounded incredulous.

I knew for a matter of fact that she was going to try and make me out to be a complete asshole; I deserved it. We met at the bar and sat down in a corner table. The waitress came over and took our order.

"I'd like a whiskey on the rocks. What about you, Sherry?" I asked.

"I'll have bourbon." She glared at the beautiful, short-haired, brunette waitress and slumped deeper into the seat.

Then she began talking, "If you want to continue with this relationship, you had better treat me with a lot more respect, you jerk-off!"

I sat there for 5 minutes sipping my whiskey while listening to her abuse me verbally. I'd been through it before. Her language was distinct as a sailor. The abuse was more than normal. I just let it go on.

"I know you were doing your job, Sherry. I'm sorry for insulting you last night" finally stammered out of my mouth. I took another sip of whiskey then folded my arms on my chest. Listening to her, I thought _I got a word in! Wow! What a bitch!_

I glanced over at the waitress and motioned for a refill. Looking at Sherry, I asked her "Do you want to come over to my place for a night-cap?"

Sherry's mouthed dropped open. She looked at me and stated, "What's with the request for sex? Haven't you been listening to me for the last 5 minutes? I don't really feel like you deserve any kind of treat after what you did to me last night. You made me look like a fool in front of everyone."

"Again, I apologize for the insult last night, Sherry. I just need to relax. I was hoping that you would be willing to help me with that."

"You, pig!" She slapped me hard across the right cheek, jumped up and stormed out of the bar. _I guess that she's not my girlfriend anymore!_

The waitress walked over to me and promptly stated, "I get off work at 4:00pm. Come and pick me up." I didn't even know this lovely woman's name. I looked at her name badge and said, "I'll be here at 4:00, Annie."

I found the sexual relief in someone I didn't even know.

NKNKNKNK

Dean, still reeling on this inside from having killed a very good friend, turned his attention back to the blonde woman lying comfortably in the bed half naked with her tits covered up by the blankets. He had just completed the "transaction" when another disruption interrupted his casual, but meaningless, sex.

The hotel telephone rang. Dean picked up the receiver, expecting to hear from Sam again, screamed, "Leave me the fuck alone!"

A soft but stern female voice responded, "Sir, my name is Virginia. I am the _Front Desk Guest Services_ Manager for the hotel. Please do not use this language with me. I called to let you know that I received a message that you rented a room last night and used it for inappropriate services. I am sending security guards to the room now to have you and the woman with you escorted from the property. If you do not go with them, I will call the Las Vegas police to have you arrested for prostitution. The police have already been given a description of the woman. It is in your best interest to leave with security."

"I understand…" Dean could not calm down. Enraged at the thought that he would be manhandled, he jumped up, put on his clothes, picked up his 9 mm hand cannon, and hid behind the door to the hotel room.

Rose gasped in terror. "What the fuck is going on?" stammered out from her.

"Security is on its way up to escort us out the building. Get dressed, NOW! We're leaving, even if I have to shoot my way out of the fucking room." He picked up his cell phone and fast-dialed Sam.

"Sammy, I'm in trouble. Come to the Hard Rock Hotel and pick me up. Hurry! I have shit-for-brains, rent-a-cops on their way to get me."

Sam yawned, dropped his head in disbelief, and ran to the closet of his hotel room at the Circus Circus. "OK. I'm on my way. Just don't do anything stupid. We're going to talk about this shit later on." The phone call dropped.

Dean still standing behind the door, heard someone knock from the hallway. "Who is it?"

"Yes, Sir. I am one of the security guards from the hotel. Open the door, please."

Dean blurted, "Go fuck yourself, you bag of dicks!"

The security guard pushed in the master key from the hallway unlocking the door. Dean cocked the pistol waiting for a fight. As the door opened, he stuck the pistol into the face of the guard and declared, "We're leaving right now. Don't follow us or I'll shoot!"

He grabbed Rose by the arm and pushed her into the hallway. The security guard fearing for his life, raised his hands and backed up.

Dean and Rose ran straight to the elevator.

"Rose, don't ever contact me again if you know what's good for you!" Dean began to regain his composure.

What Dean didn't realize is that quite often the Las Vegas police officers moonlight as the security guards at the casinos to make extra cash. The security guard he threatened called his friends at the police. The officers were waiting on the main floor of the hotel as Dean and Rose stepped out.

Sam drove up in the Impala just as both Dean and Rose were hand-cuffed and escorted away. Sam slumped back into the driver's seat, grabbed the steering wheel and slumped his head into his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The night before Dean was arrested, Sam had been also doing his very best to celebrate his former friend's demise. Dean had gotten in some punches, but it WAS Sam who beheaded Charlie.

Sam walked into the Circus Circus, paid the room fees for five days in cash, checked into Room 1013, dropped off his shit (except his .38 revolver, wallet and phone), and then walked out onto the Las Vegas Boulevard Strip. Trying not to cry for the one he had just beheaded two days before, he walked into a local bar and ordered the house-flavored beer. Sam picked up the glass and proceeded to the back of the room to find a seat away from the hubbub of the men and women, both locals and tourists. In the booth he choose, he found a crumpled daily newspaper. Evidently, the barmaid had not yet cleaned the booth, so he picked up the paper to scan through the headlines.

His cell phone rang.

"Hi Bobby. What's going on?"

"Sam, where in the hell is your brother? I heard that things are starting to heat up down there?"

"Bobby, all I know is that someone or something killed a couple of women last night. I've already been over to the coroners office to examine the bodies. Both of them were drained of blood."

"Where is your idget brother? I need to speak to the two of you both together."

"Dean disappeared on me at the Hard Rock Casino after we ate. I called him once but he hung up on me. All my other calls have gone to voicemail."

"Well, that's just fine and dandy. But you two are in for some serious shit. Call me when you hear from him."

Bobby disconnected and Sam put down the phone on the table in front of him.

All of a sudden Rowena appeared in the booth across from Sam.

"Hello, my dear, Sam."

"Go FUCK yourself in the ass, you cunt! I AM going to kill you for making Charlie into a vampire and sending her to kill us." He quickly whipped out the .38 revolver and held it underneath the table pointing it his newly found nemesis.

"Now, now. Such language and tenacity from you, Sam."

Sam interjected, "Either you leave now or I'll make a scene like you've never seen before!"

"Sam, tsk, tsk. Don't you think that I would have thought of that? Silly man. That little pea-shooter will do nothing to me. Besides who do think I really am?"

"You're a skank psychopath, you cunt! You made me kill my friend Charlie. I loved her like a sister, you fuck!"

Sam cocked the .38 pistol. His fist tightened around the grip and the trigger began to squeeze when he felt this strange overwhelming tug as if it came straight from the toes of his feet to the hand holding the gun. He screamed out in pain, dropped the gun between his knees, and clasped both hands together in gut-wrenching pain.

"What the fuck did you do to me, you fucking cunt, bitch?"

"Just a little taste of the olden years, Sam. Now stop being such a prick and let me talk."

Sam thought about reaching across the table and strangling this bitch until she could breathe no more, but before he could act upon the thought, another sensation pushed him into the seat with his head, back, and ass securely fastened.

"Now that you cannot move, I would like to introduce you to a friend. Make it quick, my son, so that we can be on our way."

From out of the shadows appeared a figure. This figure walked past Sam and took a good look at him before disappearing into the crowd. The figure didn't say a word.

Suddenly, Sam was free of Rowena's bond. She and the figure were gone. Sam left the booth. His glass of beer was practically full. He had only taken 4 gulps before the couple of shitheads were gone. He ran out the front door of the bar and scanned the area for Rowena. She was gone. And the figure too. In the faint distance, he heard a scream which sent shivers down his spine, "Beware! I am Now Here!" Echoes of "Here" dissipated while screams of laughter and gaiety of the people around him continued.

The next morning he drove over to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino only to see Dean and some blonde bimbo, slut be shoved into the back of a cop car.

Sam mumbled to himself, "Ok, Dean. What the hell?"

He stared at the steering wheel and cranked the engine of the Impala, leaving the Hard Rock Casino for good. This was the last time the two of them ever drove onto that property again.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dean, while being pushed into the car, started screaming a bold-face lie at the top of his voice, "Take your hands off me, you shit-for-brains, rent-a-cop! I'm here undercover."

The officer ignored Dean's verbal demands, and as Dean was being pushed into the car, the officer slammed his forehead onto the top of the frame of the car. Dean let out a tear-jerking yelp, tried to fight his way free, but the cuffs that bound his wrists behind him were too strong for him to remove. Dean slumped into the seat. Rose, Dean's "date" from the night before, was shoved into the back seat of the second car on the scene. Onlookers were gathering at the sight. People were mumbling amongst themselves and pointing at the two of them as Dean and Rose were being hauled away for processing.

Sam drove the Impala behind the procession of police cars to the down-town police plaza. As Sam was parking the car, Lieutenant Mike Harrow passed him on the sidewalk walking toward the main door.

Lt. Harrow gazed toward the black beauty and thought to himself, _Hell, what I would not give to have such a stunning piece of work. It would be great for cruising for some ass._

Sam approached the main door and entered. Wary of the guard staging area, he left his personal sidearm in the trunk of the car. He walked up to the guard desk, left the Impala keys on the conveyor belt, and then passed through the radar scanner. He did not take anything with him that would cause him to look suspicious. The guard looked him over, reviewed the scanner computer screen, and motioned him through the gate. Sam was in.

"Excuse me, officer. Will you please direct me to central processing? My brother was brought in for _disturbing the peace_ and I need to sign for his release."

"Through the doors on your right", responded the guard. Just then he stood up. The guard was taller than Sam. _Oh shit! I had better do this right the first time_ passed through Sam's mind.

Sam's full intention was to not pay for Dean; Sam was here to break him out.

As Sam walked through the security gate, Sam saw Lt. Harrow push his way out the main entrance running toward the street.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Captain Hal called me about another murder near Tropicana Blvd. This time the scene was behind the old museum which had housed the ever-beloved remnants of Liberace, a famed fashion-driven, piano player. As I drove up to the building, Detective Parker approached my car and shouted, "Lieutenant, the Captain wants you to park on the street. You are not going to like the shit-storm he is ranting." I looked at Detective Parker and rolled my eyes. The captain was beginning to really piss me off.

"Mike, you are going to love this one. We've got another body with the same MO. Everything is the same, right down to the missing blood. You and your team need to find this fucker ASAP", screamed the Captain as he drove away from the scene.

I walked up to the back entrance of the museum to find an Asian woman seated next to an Asian man. This time the killer had folded their hands together and drained them both of blood. The concrete was covered with a river of red, and the park bench in which they had been seated was strewn with strands of skin.

"Detective Parker! What the fuck is this shit?" I screamed.

"Well, Lieutenant, the murderer is getting more bold by the moment. The body was discovered early this morning by a couple out on their morning run. Marcus, the crime scene tech, has already left and given us a cursory exam. The doctor is on his way too gather up what remains, including the bench. Marcus wants to have it all transported away for him to work on it away from the public."

"That's an excellent idea. Did Marcus take pictures of everything?"

"Yes, sir, he did. We have digital images of everything."

"Parker, get the clean up crew out here today, and don't leave until the concrete is white again."

"Yes, Lieutenant. Your wish is my command!"

Rowena and her adopted son were watching the entire scene from across the street. She looked at him and stated, "Well, my dear, psychotic, loveable bear. What a beautiful mess you have made. Keep up the good work and you will be rewarded."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Rowena and her newly adopted son had been watching the disarray as it unfolded. Rowena asked him for another look at the knife which he madly yielded. Seated across from her, the two of them began a conversation that would send shivers down Charles Manson's spine. Sitting afar off from others to overhear, this maniacal conversation took place.

"My dear son, may I look at the wonderful piece of artwork you carry with you?"

"Why the hell do you want to look at it, bitch, troll?"

"Tsk, tsk. I thought that you and I moved past this utter disdain for me. Now let's start over. Pull out the knife so I can look at it."

"Whatever, bitch!"

He slowly pulled from inside his jacket a knife that looked to be 9 inches long. The hilt was diamond-incrusted with a leather handle wrapped around the metal shaft. The blade was solid steel, slightly curved on one side and the other, straight (and sharp as a great white shark's teeth).

"You know something, my son. This knife has a history. I thought that I had seen this before."

"Yeah, it does. I use it to kill trolls, bitch!"

"Where did you this lovely piece of destruction, might I ask?"

"From your asshole..."

Rowena stretched out her hand and her adopted son fell out of the booth across from her. He jumped up, tried to attack her but lost his footing as her hand popped up again. He stumbled backwards and slightly crashed into another table. Rowena then pursed her lips and demanded that he sit down.

"Now, I am going to ask again. Where do you buy this piece of artwork?"

He stammered, "Gold & Silver Pawn Shop."

"Oh, good. Now, listen to me. This knife is MUCH more than you think. Do you see these engraved markings on the blade? They're Mayan. In 1504, a Mayan High Priest used this knife in his sacrifices of blood to the gods. This knife was used in human sacrifice. It carries a blood-curse that demands sacrifice from everyone that yields this masterpiece."

"Yeah. And I'm the motherfucker that gets to continue the work?"

"Yes, dearie, you are!"

The two of them remained until the police left the scene.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Bobby was sitting at his dining room table, surfing the Internet. It was hard to ascertain just what he looking for, but none-the-less, he was contented in his searches. Bobby's computer received a pop-up showing a new e-mail had just been received from 12billdavis34. The e-mail was entitled, YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS! _This is someone I have not spoken to in years_ , passed through his mind. Curiosity drove Bobby to open the attachment. It was a video file of 15 seconds of footage.

This is what transpired:

"Charlie, what happened to you?", Sam demanded.

"Sammy, I was experimenting with something and this witch with a capital B showed up." was her response. An excessive amount of teeth protruded from her gums.

Swish, slice, gurgle, plop and several thuds were the next sounds while a head rolled across the ground and stopped at Dean's feet.

Dean stood up and brushed off his jeans. "Sammy, what the fuck did you do?"

"Dean you were knocked out and I had to do something."

The video file ended.

Bobby picked up his cell phone, scrolled through the contacts and fast-dialed Sam.

Sam had been pondering how his venture into getting Dean out of the cop-shop would fair when Bobby's call rang through.

"Bobby, what's up? I'm kinda busy right now."

"Sam, what did you two idgets do? I just got an e-mail with a video file showing Charlie's head rolling down the road..."

Sam interjected, "Dean was arrested this morning. I'm trying to find out why. I'm at the Las Vegas Police central booking right now."

"Oh goody. You two always find ways to screw up. I'm coming to you."

Before Sam could respond, the phone call disconnected. Sam cocked his head in disbelief. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he approached the central booking desk.

"May I help you, young man?" asked a middle-aged lady from behind the desk.

"Uh, yes, ma'am. I'm here to inquire about someone recently brought in. The gentleman is 6 feet 1 inch tall, white male, and there may have been a woman brought in with him at the same time." Sam asked.

"Yes, Sir, Those two are here. We don't often get the john with the working girl together. They are currently being processed. Would you like me to get you the arresting officer?

"Yes, ma'am, Please do."

The woman picked up the phone and called the primary central booking officer for Clark County Jail.

A few minutes later, an African American gentleman came out to speak to Sam.

Sam was seated at a bench in the hallway and stood up as the man introduced himself.

"Yes, Sir, I am here to get a man that was brought in about an hour ago."

"Young man, the person you are asking about is being booked for battery and attempted homicide. If you want to get him out, you're going to have to wait until morning because he's being arraigned tomorrow. I expect that his bail is going to be $50,000."

Sam flustered with the image of Dean being locked up probably for forever, pulled out his fake FBI badge, and stated, "Officer Johnson, that is never going to happen. The man you have locked up is an FBI confidential informant and cannot be booked for processing. I need you to release him and the girl immediately."

"And why should I do that, Agent?"

"Because the United States government is telling you to do so. Thank you."

The officer shrugged his shoulders, looked Sam in the face, and bleated, "He's yours. I don't want to see your ugly mug in this building again."

Sam had won a victory without having to throw a punch. His determination was set and he followed through. One half an hour later both Dean and the girl left the building with Sam beside them. The three of them got into the Impala and drove away.

Sam looked at Dean and shook his head. "You're going to be the death of me one of these days, you punk. You really stink. You really need to gank that stank."

Dean laughed and punched Sam in the shoulder. Sam glared back him and didn't say another word.

Sam pulled the Impala to the side of the road and ordered the girl out of car.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't give a fuck; get lost!", Sam blurted.

Sam and Dean drove away and overheard the girl scream, "Fuckers!" as she through a rock at the car. Fortunately, for her, she missed.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Pay attention to the activities that lay ahead, trolls; your days are numbered, trolls. I love my knife; it's my only friend. My friend does its job so skillfully that I find it has a mind of its own. But wait, trolls, more will happen when my friend finds its way to your throats. Again and again my friend will find its way. I love my knife; it's my only friend.

I am home again and a skank wench, troll has found her way into my domain. This is unsettling and will be dealt with soon enough. However, to the refrigerator I go to get another taste of my friend's lovely deeds. I must remember to heat up this blood. It tastes better with a little warmth.

The troll speaks to me out of turn.

"Uh dearie, this place looks like it could use some sprucing up. Maybe you could clean off the table and chairs so that I have a place to sit. My legs hurt so, my adopted son. And, what is that you are drinking? Is that blood?"

"Shut up, bitch! You've come into my friends sanctuary. You will leave it just as it is because my friend likes it. If you change anything then my friend will find its way into your neck, cunt. And, yes, this is blood. Do you want my friend to drain yours as well."

Rowena became incredulous at her adopted son's attitude. She chanted a few choice words, the door slammed behind them, and suddenly her son found himself pinned on the wall, four feet off of the floor with both arms spread wide against the torn wallpaper and chipped sheetrock. Rowena walked up to her son and took away his friend.

"You fucking, bitch, cunt..." Another few choice words from Rowena and he found himself without lips. His mouth was completely fused shut.

"Dearie, now that I have your fullest attention, you would not be able to drink my blood. It would instantly kill you. We have a job to do in town. Do you remember what I promised you? Well, you have not kept up your side of the bargain. Sure, I have let you run amuck and destroy whatever captures your eyes, but we must get back to the task at hand. If I let you down off the wall, are you going to behave and keep your damn mouth shut? If not, then you and the wall become a permanent fixture. Do you understand me?"

Struggling the entire time Rowena was speaking, he nodded, and she recanted everything she had said and he returned to the floor standing straight and tall.

"Where is my only friend? I love my only friend. Give him back to me, slut!"

The wall cracked as Rowena slighted her arm and thrust him even farther into it, harder than the first time. She then whipped her head to the right side and he dropped onto piles of rotting garbage left on the floor. He stood up, shook a little, then slumped into the cockroach-filled couch. Rowena whisked her arm and a section of the room suddenly became immaculate.

"Well, now, that is better; I am beginning to feel so much more at home."

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

"Detective Parker, have you gotten anything more from the coroner about the last two victims found behind the museum?" I asked.

"Well, LT, other than what we have been hearing about the other murders, this killer is obviously escalating."

"Sure, he left the bloody scribe BEWARE, I AM NOW HERE and drained the blood from their necks, but the actual cause of death for the Asian female was strangling."

"Parker, are you sure we are talking about the same killer?"

"LT, yes, we certainly are. The male victim was killed first with a stab to the stomach and the female was strangled. And, then the blood-letting began. And, from the amount of blood left at the scene, the killer took two pints with him. The scribe written in blood between them, was written with a mixture of the two victims bloods."

"Parker, what else do we know?" piped in Captain Hal.

"Well, we did get video from across the street, but the image is grainy and the light was too poor to get an exact image of the killer. And, the killer used gloves; there are no fingerprints." Parker answered.

"Well, team, keep working on it." I left the room to get a drink of coffee when I received an odd phone call.

"Yes, is this the lieutenant in charge?" asked the male voice.

"Yes, I am Lieutenant Mike Harrow, the police office in charge of the case. How may I help you?"

"I think that I can help you, Lt." came a quizzical answer. "My name is Bobby Singer. There are two young gentlemen in Las Vegas that can definitely help you. I am with them now if we can meet somewhere public but with a little bit of privacy, please."

"What kind of help are you offering?"

"Some additional help strictly off the radar, if you know what I mean."

"Sure do understand. We can meet downtown at the 4 Queens. It's on the Fremont Experience. Will an hour do?"

"We'll find it and be there." Bobby responded.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I walked into the 4 Queens Hotel and saw three men standing near the front door inside the foyer. One man was in his early 60's and the other two looked like they were in their 30's. _Why in the hell would this middle-aged man be hanging out with these two weaselly looking scumbags? Whatever floats his boat._ As I approached the would-be cluster fuck, I stuck out my hand to the eldest of the three.

"You must be Bobby Singer."

"Yes, Lt. Harrow, I am he."

"Who are these other two? I think that I may have seen them before, but I can't quite figure where." Shaking my forefinger at the other two, I exclaimed, "Yes, I do remember where I saw you two. It was downtown at Police Plaza. I answered a recent call to a scene. You are also the two that showed up a couple of nights ago offering your assistance. Weren't the two of you dressed and imitating FBI Agents?"

Dean gulped hard and Sam bit his lip and cocked his head to the side.

"Yes, these are the two men that I know can help you find your killers." Bobby stood forward and interjected. "Trust me. They are good at what they do. They ARE the best."

"And, Mr. Singer, just what is that these two are good at doing?"

Bobby grabbed his chin, rubbed it intently, let out a sigh of warning, and then suddenly blurted, "They are killers."

"Just what kind of the killers are they and why are they in my city? Do I need to arrest them right now?"

Dean stepped forward and introduced himself. "Lt. Harrow, my brother, Sam and I, are hunters; we hunt shitheads. And, there is at least one shithead, if not two, in the city."

Sam just shook his head in disbelief. "What my brother means, Lieutenant, is that, we are here to sensibly remove some bad people from the city. OK. That came out wrong; let me rephrase that..."

Bobby interrupted everyone before the conversation got completely out-of-hand. "Lt. Harrow, these two idgets have never been too good at explaining things. Let me correct everything before this conversation takes a nosedive into Hell."

"Frankly, Mr. Singer, it already has. And, I am ready to take these two to jail right now if I don't get a straight answer. Just what the hell is going on in my city?"

All three of them drew serious faces and each of them cocked their heads to the side while looking at the lieutenant. Bobby spoke first, "Sam and Dean are here to kill a witch."

"Ha Ha! You fools just made me reach my fucking limit. What the hell? A witch?" He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the radio, began to key the audio transmitter, when Dean grabbed his hand and pulled it down to his side. "Let me go, you dick! Don't fucking touch me!"

"Lt. Harrow, may I call you, 'Mike'? There is a woman here in Las Vegas who is taunting us into killing her. She is a witch. She made us kill a very good friend of ours not 72 hours ago, and we are here for revenge. Stay the FUCK out of our way!"

"How is this shit story supposed to help me?"

Sam added, "Her name is Rowena. She was born during the Dark Ages and may be 800 years old at least. She has probably joined forces with your killer here in Las Vegas. Her specialty is to cause as much destruction and dismay wherever and whenever."

"This is the stupidest conversation I have ever heard in my life; You're all MAD!"

Bobby spoke again, "Lt. Harrow, believe what you will or must, but, we are telling you the truth. And, these two can find your killer and Rowena..."

"And then what will happen?"

Dean chimed in, "We kill the motherfuckers! And...you get another shiny star from the police force on your nicely pressed Armani suit."

Sam and Bobby looked at each other as Dean insulted the lieutenant's clothing. He had been wearing a cheap pair of jeans, an unpressed and coffee-stained white shirt, and a pair of shoes from the 1970's. Everything about the way the lieutenant dressed was bad.

"You're a funny guy, Dean, aren't you?" as Lt. Harrow pointed at him. "OK. You three are crazy as nut-balls, but, I'm game. Let's find the bitch..."

Dean glanced at him, pointed his forefinger, and stated emphatically, "You just made the right choice!"

The conversation ended and the four men parted ways. Sam, Dean, and Bobby all got into the Impala and drove away.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

I was driving home after a long, hot, hard day at work. Having spent an hour with three men away from the office made the day a little better (especially, the 5 shots of Jack Daniels), but I needed to get home and get some sleep. I drove up to a stoplight and as I was waiting for the light to change to green, I lit a cigarette and thoughts about the day raced through my mind. _What a bunch of ass-monkeys, those three: a witch conspiring with someone to kill off people; what a load of shit._ It was less than a _load of shit_ than I thought. What I witnessed next would cause the hairs of your asshole to tie themselves into a bow. I never imagined seeing such a fucked up sight.

A woman was bending over another woman while a man wielding a knife was cutting the other woman's throat. The woman on the ground fell straight backward. As I lit up the Red's, Blue's and the Siren. The two murders disappeared right before my eyes. I would not have believed it if I had not seen it. Needless to say, I immediately picked up my cell phone and called the three ass-monkeys.

"Yes, this is Sam."

I stammered and choked out the next sentence, "OK. You're right and I am wrong. I just saw someone killed by a man and a woman at the corners of Koval and Tropicana. Will you, PLEASE, meet me there? I'm getting ready to call my team."

"Yes, Lt. Harrow, Dean, Bobby and I are on our way."

The phone call ended.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sam and Dean looked at each other as Sam hung up the phone. Sam gave him a grim but satisfying stare which could have torn the very fabric of space and time. Dean glanced back and glared in wonderment.

"Well, it seems that the Lieutenant has finally come to his good senses and called us. According to what he just told me, Rowena was just seen at the corners of Koval and Tropicana. He's asking us to go there right now."

"Sam, are you sure that this chump ass-hat is going to listen to us?" Dean bellowed.

"Well, you two idgets just need to get your asses in gear and go find out! I'm going to stay here in case you need a third set of hands. Now, get the hell out of here and go help the poor schmuck..." Silence broke in a flash as "BALLS!" blared out.

Sam and Dean shrugged their shoulders. Dean picked up his hand cannon, cocked it, and started for the door.

"It's time to kill the BITCH, Sam! We're doing this one by-the-numbers; no FUCK-UPS!"

"Dean, just get in the car and let's go gank the bitch. I'm going to love this one!"

The two of them practically flew out the door of the motel they rented off of Boulder Hwy and Nellis Blvd. The door slammed hard as they ran out to the Impala. The days' sunlight had warmed the black sealed canvas. Dean brushed his hand over the top of the car as he unlocked the driver's side door.

"Damn, you're looking and feeling good! Sam, let's get some!"

Dean cranked the engine of the car. The Impala purred like a kitten as the two of them drove out onto the street.

"Dean, we're heading to the corner of Koval 'n Trop. Harrow is going to meet us there."

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Dean drove up to the scene with the window down to let the cooler air of the night blow through. Sam jerked back slightly and proceeded to open the door on the passenger's side as the two of them were approached from the same man they had just spent a few hours with earlier that night. A stern but pensive look gave away his thoughts of dismay.

"Well, it's fine time that the two of you showed up. I've got my team already handling the crime scene but I NEED to know about this. Just what the fuck have I gotten myself into."

Sam got out of the car, stretched a little, then spoke.

"Lt. Harrow let us do the dirty work and find these fuckers. I'm sure that you're team is good at handling a normal murder investigation, but this is FAR from normal. You are dealing with the supernatural and that is where we come in. We've been doing this for most of our lives. We grew up fighting shit like this. Let us find these fuckers. We have our own way of dispensing justice."

"You're Sam, am I right?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam responded.

"I'm not going to get into trouble am I?"

Dean interjected to spice up the conversation. "If you don't want any more dead bodies lyin' around, let the two of us get to work; we're here to kill the bitch and stop the madness!"

Just as Dean spoke, Detective Parker stepped over and overheard him. Lt. Harrow looked at her as her mouth dropped open.

"Lieutenant, you really aren't listening to this shit. This is a discussion of murdering someone else. What the fuck?"

"Parker, walk away and forget that you heard this. These two are here to help us and I am going to give them all the leeway they need."

"Mike, I am not walking away or forgetting about this until I am made aware of what is happening. Or should I call the Captain and tell him what you're planning on doing."

Dean responded to her, "Listen, Sweetheart, have you ever heard of witches?"

Detective Parker laughed out loud and began mocking the trio that were planning Rowena and her cohort's demises. Lt. Harrow pulled out his pack of off-brand cigarettes and lit up. Parker was laughing so hard that she began to choke on the cigarette smoke which was blown in her face. Lt. Harrow, Sam and Dean walked away to a more secluded area to continue their discussion. Parker looked at them as they walked away. A finger rose into the air toward them while they had their backs turned to her. Pissed off at the situation and still trying to gain her composure, she headed back to the crime scene to continue working.

The other three found an area that was away from the scene and began planning their attacks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Detectives, our killers have left a blood trail. Where are the Captain and Lieutenant?" asked our crime scene tech, Marcus.

"Marcus, the Lieutenant will not be joining us any longer on the investigation. I just got off the phone with the Captain and Harrow is through. As the lead Sargent on the team, I am assuming full responsibility. Now, what about this blood trail?" exclaimed Parker all in one breath.

"Well, it's faint, but remember how the doctor told us that the killer is draining blood? The last scenes were bloody messes, but did not blood have trails. This is the first sloppy scene that we've been called out to."

Just then I and two cohorts re-approached the scene. All three of us were hot, sweaty, and getting bothered with having to deal with bullshit.

"OK. Marcus, 'sloppy', wow, do you need a lesson in tact, you fuckrag, Just tell us what is going on. This shit is out-of-control and we're going to finish it." shouted Harrow. "And, Parker, you're dismissed. This is still and will always be my case. After all I am your superior. Now leave!"

Parker began throwing a hissy-fit. I just looked at her, pointed toward her car, motioned for her to leave, and stated emphatically in a kind of Andy Griffith sort of condescending tone, "Leave! Bye, bye! Don't come back now, ya hear!" Parker stomped her foot and stormed off!

"Sir, was that necessary?" asked Marcus.

I puffed up my shoulders, looked him square in the eyes, and nodded. _Yup, that was fucking necessary, you pimpled-pitted, face painted, motherfucker._

"Now, what about that blood trail?"

Sam and Dean had been standing afar off listening to the may-lay. I turned my attention back to them and motioned them forwarded.

"Marcus, these two are Sam and Dean Winchester. Tell the three of us where the trail leads."

"Are you sure that is protocol, Sir?"

"It is today!" stated Dean. "We're his consultants in matters that are directly related to this case."

"The trail begins here and goes down that direction, north on Koval."

"Sammy, let's go. We have work to do."

The group followed the blood trail until it disappeared about 100 yards from the scene.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

"Dearie, dearie. You are so much fun! I am really enjoying the game we are playing together!" Rowena bleated with delight.

"Bitch, you're getting on my nerves."

"Now, now. We already had to deal with your attitude once before. Would you like to become a wall decoration again?"

"Fuck you, cunt! This is my apartment. And, these are my things. Just because you promised me life-eternal doesn't mean jack shit to me."

Rowena pushed out her hand, chanted a few words, and suddenly, he flew through the air hitting the wall. His mouth fused shut, his lips disappeared without a trace and then he took another breath as his mouth reopened. Soon afterward he fell to the floor. The whole process took no more than five seconds.

"You were sloppy this time, my dear, adopted son. You left a blood trail for the police and the Winchesters to find. I had to clean it up!"

Rowena walked toward him, stretched out her hand and helped him back to his feet.

Poof. Rowena disappeared without a trace in a puff of black smoke.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Poof. Rowena appeared and walked up to the entourage that was trying to find her. Everyone stared in disbelief that she would even dare to enter their presence. Sam and Dean pulled out their pistols and aimed.

"You whore!" Sam shouted. "I ought to shoot your ass and leave your carcass to be devoured by street rats!"

"I am here for a truce, please gentlemen."

"Why would we even consider such an agreement, you dick-bag sucking fiend?" retorted Dean.

Rowena disdainfully, but with an air of conceit about her, looked at the pair and blurted, "Because I can give you your killer. You let me live and I will take you to his lair of solitude."

"Wow! You've got to be kidding me. You sicked Charlie on us and know we are supposed to let you live...", Sam disgustedly asked.

Bemused by his swagger, Rowena walked over to him, reached out her hand, brushed his chin, and blurted, "Why, yes, dearie, you are SO correct."

Dean started laughing at the conversation, then screamed at the top of his voice, "GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU BITCH FROM HELL! The thought of you fingering yourself makes me quiver...But, you know something, it's the thought that counts." He continued to maniacally laugh so more.

"Dean, you have some much more to offer than being foul-mouthed and crass, Sweetie." Rowena retorted with the continued air of conceit.

"OK, lady, I'm game." stated Lt. Harrow. "I need to find the killer and fast."

Dean turned around, looked the lieutenant in the face, and asked quizzically, "You cannot be even considering this as an option?"

Sam interjected, "No. You can't do so..."

"Yes, I can and I am doing so. Lady, what do you want from me?"

Rowena sauntered over to the lieutenant, gave him a snide stare, grabbed his chin, and stated, "The killer is located..."

Dean ran up behind her, pulled out his demon knife and stuck it in her neck before she could say another word. Rowena fell to the ground, blood spurting from the wound, turned her head, stretched out her arm and sent him flying 10 feet through the air into a pile of garbage.

Poof. She was gone in a flash.

Sam ran over to Dean to help him up. Dean shoved his brother's arm out of the way and climbed up to his feet.

"Dean, what the fuck did you do?" asked Lt. Harrow.

"I did what was necessary; NO FUCKING DEALS WITH THAT SHIT-FOR-BRAINS, DICKBAG!"

Lt. Harrow shrugged his shoulders and walked away shaking his head in disbelief. The other cops around just stood there with their mouths agape because they could not believe what had just happened. Sam and Dean got into the Impala and drove away. Sanctuary was necessary and needed post-haste.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Rowena's magical escape pushed the demon knife out of her neck. As she reappeared, still bleeding profusely from her neck, she wandered down a darkened side-street. Searching for something to stop the bleeding, she found a greasy, dirt-filled towel. She winced in disgust, grabbed the towel, wrapped it around her neck, then collapsed to the ground next to a pile of trash. Gurgling during each gasping breath, she cursed Dean for nearly killing her. Dizzy from the blood loss, she passed out, eyes glazed over. A few minutes later a passerby found her half-dead, pulled out his cell phone, and called emergency services.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNK

"Marcus, make sure that this scene is completely secured. Not everything you saw today is to be documented. Just make sure that the evidence is marked correctly so no other mistakes happen. And, clean up this mess. Leave that other shit to me."

"Yes, Sir!" Marcus stuttered still thinking about the entire mishap that had just occurred. He could not believe that someone would be able to live through having a knife stuck in his or her neck. The improbabilities were swelling his imagination.

"Detectives, if anyone asks this was simply an investigation of a common murder. Nothing else goes on the books. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Crystal clear as mud..." stammered an unrecognizable voice from the crowd.

"What the fuck?" I turned around to see who the person was that had spoken. No one uttered a word. They continued working and minding their own business.

"I need a drink! Leave me alone for the next 8 hours. Don't even call me; I won't answer the damn phone."

I got in my car and drove south on Koval away from the scene. I tried to reason through the ever-growing shit-hole being dug. I knew for a matter of fact that I was not going to be able to climb out of it without the additional help. However, drowning in shit sounded like a life-saver at that moment. I opened the driver's side window, lit a cigarette, turned on the radio, and located the local classic rock station. The station had just finished playing a Beatles song. _Damn. I missed that one._

NKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Sam and Dean had other agendas. The two of them drove to Gold Mine Bar & Grill. Sam ordered a few beers while Dean ordered whiskey shots, so many he lost count. Both of them introduced themselves to some of the local women. Trying to get laid, the conversations seemed to go well for the two of them.

A biker walked past Dean and bumped into him while Dean was taking a bite of apple pie. The pie fell to the floor of the bar and Dean began grumbling to himself. Drunk as a fucking skunk, Dean got up from the table, approached the group of bikers and loudly blurted for the entire bar to hear, "Hey, dick-bags..."

One of the bikers grabbed his beer bottle, cracked it on the edge of the pool table, looked at Dean and glared with _fire truck_ red eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you and your boyfriend are talking to? Me and my bros are going to fuck you up!"

Sam still yucking it up with one of the local women, witnessed Dean's stunt, overheard the biker's insult, got up from the bar stool, stomped over to the group, and stated, "Hey, man, we're brother's. You dildo-riding, douche-bag."

Dean pushed Sam aside, and blurted, "Sammy, leave me to these punk-loving, ass-hats. I need to blow off some steam!"

"Dean, this is not the way. Blow off your steam with Rowena. We're going to find her!"

Dean ignored Sam's plea. In a flash the raucous ruckus began. By the time the fight ended, six ass-hats were either bleeding slumped over the pool tables or bleeding on the floors. Several tables and chairs were smashed, the glass mirror behind the bar had a chair sticking out of it, one of the waitresses broke her arm, and both Winchesters had single black eyes.

Both Sam and Dean scampered away in a hurry before the cops could arrive. The bartender looked at the bar, shook his head, and screamed "I quit! I'm not cleaning this shit!"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Hello. 911? I'm in a side-street behind the MGM Grand off of Koval and there is a woman bleeding from her neck. She's gotta a pulse but her breathing is really shallow. Please send the police and an ambulance." declared the passerby.

"OK. Sir, would you please give me your name?" responded the 911 operator.

Click. The phone went dead.

"Son-of-a-bitch! I didn't get the full address."

"Well, did you get the cell phone GPS marking?" asked her supervisor.

"Yes, I did."

"Send it to the police and move on to the next call; it's been a busy night."

The operator got a hold of the proper authorities, sent the ambulance to the vicinity from where the call originated. By the time the ambulance arrived, the passerby had left the scene and Rowena was still there bleeding. Half-dead from the demon knife having been plunged through her neck, she opened her eyes to see the paramedic removing the would-be bandaging from around her neck. Blood spurted all over his nice clean shirt.

"Damn, that is a nasty cut. Whatever or whoever did this nearly bisected her neck." offered the paramedic to his trainee. "We have got to get her to the ER within the next 10 minutes or she is going to be dead for sure. Help me re-wrap her neck to stop the bleeding. We may have to suture her neck before we leave."

The two of them worked feverishly to strap her to the gurney and put her into the back of the vehicle.

Rowena's mind and body were passing between reality and the netherworld. She could see her soulless life fading rapidly away as the ambulance raced toward Desert Springs Hospital. As the paramedic started to insert the IV into her left arm, she sat straight up, chanted an incantation, grabbed him by his throat, and snapped his neck bending it to the right perpendicular to the floor. He fell onto the bottom of the gurney lifeless. Rowena picked up her feet, turned around, and looked at the trainee.

"Driver, if you will, please, let me out, I will be on my way. I have better things to do right now!"

"FUCK ME! You just killed my trainer!"

"Yes, dearie, I did. Now let me out before you face the same fate!"

The junior paramedic slammed on the brakes and sent Rowena flying through the windshield onto the road in front of him. Angered by her murderous act, he accelerated, ending her by making Rowena a permanent fixture underneath the front, left tire.

"Dispatch!", his voice quivering with an excited fear, "I'm involved in an accident and my trainer is dead. Our patient broke his neck and I ran over her with the ambulance! She's dead!"

The dispatcher dropped the radio, ran to her supervisor and brought him back to the office. As the police and other officials arrived on the scene, Lt. Harrow overheard the radio call. He had to investigate.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNK

"Sam, Dean, you drunk idgets, wake up! I just heard police radio chatter. The description of the woman involved in an accident sounds a lot like Rowena!" blurted Bobby.

The two of them still feeling the ill effects of their bar room brawl, snapped to their feet.

"Damn! That sounds all fine and dandy to me. That ass-hat bitch deserves everything she gets!" responded Dean.

"I completely agree. My head hurts; let me sleep!" chimed in Sam.

Bobby was quickly becoming irritated toward the two guys. "Would you two make sure that bitch is FINALLY dead? I'll even go with you this time."

"OK. Let's go!" Dean answered.

The three of them drove to the crash site and found their nemesis with her abdomen and legs underneath the tire and her arms splayed apart on the pavement. Her head was lying to the right on the road. Her eyes showed a blank, lifeless stare.

One word came out of Dean, "DAMN!"

As the three were getting into the Impala to drive away, Lt. Harrow approached them.

"Is this the woman that you have been looking for?" he asked.

Sam responded, "Yup! That's the fucking bitch we've been tracking. So long to good rubbish; the bitch is NO more!"

"Sammy, that was cold-hearted! But, I like it!" Dean found pleasure in affirming his brother's last comment. Bobby slumped back into the back seat of the Impala, crossed his arms, and frowned.

"We still have one more person to find. Don't we?" asked Lt. Harrow.

"You wouldn't want us on the payroll. That's for damn sure!" quipped Dean. He grinned evilly.

"No, I would not, but, we are going to find the other killer..."

"Yes, we are going to help you, Lt. Harrow. You have our promise!" Bobby was a man of few words.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I am skulking again through the dark shadows that make Las Vegas a favorite playing ground. So many trolls to slice and dice and dirty my only friend. I love my knife; it is my only friend. However, I am the progenitor of my apprentices acts. He teamed with that red-haired cunt. I hate him for that. I know what has he been up to; I have been keeping tabs. But wait, there he is. I followed my apprentice to attack him. I am done with his prancing around and having his friend take away my friend's glory. I hate my troll apprentice. My friend needs to feel the blood pulsating through his veins. Damn, here come those three assholes I've been watching closely. They found my apprentice before I could deal with him myself. Well, now, isn't that special? He dropped his knife and ran away. The others are still chasing him. His friend made another troll into spaghetti squash. Fuck! I am going to love killing this bastard troll once and for all. I slowly move away from the scene. Beware! I am Now Here!

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Sam, Dean, and Bobby are excellent trackers. While away from Lt. Harrow they discovered where the killer had been residing. The day before, Sam had examined Rowena's body and found a business card in her upper shirt pocket just over her right tit. The name of the motel was printed on the front. All the three of them had to do was sit in the Impala and wait for the killer to return. That did not take too long. The three of them planned to follow the killer into a dark alley to do him in when this happened.

"Sam, Sam, Sammy! Watch your swinging with that 10 inch knife. You just about put that thing into my neck not his!" Dean spouted.

"Well, Dean, if you would not step in front of my swing, that would not happen!" Sam retorted.

"Would the two of you just shut up and kill this bastard already?" Bobby pleaded. He had been stabbed in the arm and knocked to the pavement while wrestling with the killer.

"Damn, Bobby. I know that you're better than that! Get up, old timer!" Dean just chuckled after insulting the man that became his surrogate father.

"Asshole! You idget, just kill the dip-shit! Balls!"

"Dean, come around to the other side of me." Sam was thinking on his feet to get the killer between his brother and him.

"No dice! He got away!" Dean screamed. Dean threw a hissy fit and pulled out his hand cannon to fire. The killer was gone in a flash.

Sam reached down to help Bobby up.

NKNKNKNKNKNKNKNK

Marcus, the crime scene tech, walked into the office carrying the bloody, bagged knife. He had a stern look on his face.

"Marcus, did you get a match to the latent print left on the knife?" I asked.

"Yes, Sir, Lieutenant", he exclaimed with audacious tenacity. The shock on his face made me think twice.

"Well, who is it?" I grumbled.

Marcus looked at me with utter terror and handed me the crime scene follow-up report. I looked at the report and read the name. A shutter of fright flowed up my back as I whipped my head around. I drew my pistol.

The Captain pushed back in his chair, crossed his arms and laughed with an ear-piercing terror that forced everyone in the squad room to their feet.

"Hal, how could you?" I asked with disgust. I pointed my pistol and screamed, "Put down your gun on your desk, NOW, Captain! Walk out to us and get on the floor; you're under arrest." With the disgusted feelings came the understanding that I was losing a life-long friend.

He didn't say a word. He just looked at the lot of us with a stare. He jumped out of his seat with the most hideous scream. What he said was completely slurred and unrecognizable. He drew his weapon and fired.

Blam! I'm hit in the left arm and on the floor. I look around to the team for support. _Oh, Hell! Parker has been shot in the head. Officer down!_ I have to return fire. I emptied the clip. _I'm bleeding, but I need to finish the job._ I stood up, reloaded, and carefully lunged toward the Captain's office. His office was riddled with bullet holes in the wall behind his desk; glass was strewn everywhere from the desk to the floor. His gun was in his right hand. He tried to raise the gun to shoot me again. I grabbed it out of his hand and threw it out of the office. Bleeding from multiple bullet wounds, he looked up and started to choke on his own blood.

His last words: "I love my knife; it was my only friend and you took it from me! Damn you, troll!"

I leaned over and whispered into his left ear, "I got you, motherfucker! Hal, my apprentice, you turned on the wrong _**friend**_ and I got you back for it. What in the hell made you think that you could do anything to me?

He stared up at me and tried to grab me by the throat with his left hand. His eyes glared over and he gasped his last breath. His arm fell to the floor. The nightmare that was "Hal" was over.

I turned around and looked at Sergeant Halverson. I stood up and said to her "Here take my badge and gun! I'm through!" She looked around the room in horror at what had just transpired: bullet holes, blood splatter, property damage, and death. She did not see me nor hear me whisper to the Captain. Her attention was elsewhere. She ran over and knelt down beside Detective Parker. She grabbed him into her arms and started to cry uncontrollably. I could see that she had loved him.

I walked away as the team reviewed the mess! What more could I do? I pulled off my facial mask exposing the horrid underneath. A fiendish smile passed over my lips as I walked out the door of the squad room. No one saw me. My life-long _friend_ was finally done away with so that I could continue _my_ terror elsewhere.

I told Sam, Dean, and Bobby that their services were no longer needed and I drove out of the city, never to return. I am NOW HERE!


End file.
